Taino Neolithic

In St. Augustine, Florida, we stayed with Edie & Jorge, their kids, and Jorge's mother, visiting from Argentina. Much mate was consumed, and a Spanish fort or two was toured. I got to practice my Spanish and recalled fondly those summer days a few years back, in Puerto Rico, especially the mornings, when the igneous mountains, dripping with chlorophyll, seemed to vibrate a pure, ancient Taino neolithic promise of "everything's all right and will be, no matter what, but, of course, we must have stewards of what's right and true," and I casually accepted the job-offer as steward, knowing it was only my mind echoing off those hills, possibly some old Irish part of my subconscious, enemy of the colonial oppressor, lover of excess, and, word-drunk, scribbled in my notebook while the coffee percolated via safety-orange extension cord running like an electric eel through the plush philodendron.